


curing sleeping beauty

by hithereimsage



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Contest Entry, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, at least somewhat..?, don't do this in real life, god idk, stay healthy folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hithereimsage/pseuds/hithereimsage
Summary: “I’m certain next time to shut the door on my Prince Charming,” Goro scoffs, looking away.“You know I never leave my work half done,” Akira muses.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 1
Kudos: 85





	curing sleeping beauty

**Author's Note:**

> omg hi so i wrote this for a contest submission but thought wow sage you haven't touched your ao3 in forever and you should really do that before all of your friends hunt you down and ridicule you so haha here you go
> 
> did you hear i'm obsessed with shuake now cause... ha.
> 
> i got the lovely @EctoGhost to beta for me he's so cool and even i'm a mess while writing

**[THE PHANTOM THIEVES]**

**[JOKER]** mementos today?

**[SKULL]** Dude didn’t we just train in mementos a couple of days ago

**[QUEEN]** I think heading out is a great idea. The weather should give us the upper hand today.

**[NOIR]** Don’t worry Ryuji! I’d be glad to hear about that new manga you were talking about in our last Mementos session!

**[PANTHER]** man i wish i had the sort of tolerance haru has with ryuji lol

**[PANTHER]** but yeah i’m down !!

**[SKULL]** What’s that supposed to mean?!

**[FOX]** It means exactly as it was told. Ann wishes she had a higher tolerance in your regard. 

**[FOX]** It seems I’ll have to skip a meal for today since my budget won’t cut it. The sale in the nearby market only starts tomorrow, so I do believe I’ll be free for some training.

**[ORACLE]** poggers lmao new anime episode just aired i can watch it while navigating

**[SKULL]** Oh come on how come futaba gets to take it easy??

**[QUEEN]** Ryuji, you have to understand the navigator role comes with a lot of stress.

**[ORACLE]** yeah get rekt scrub 

**[JOKER]** it’s fine, we can drag ryuji along anyway

**[JOKER]** akechi?

**[CROW]** Sorry, I won’t be able to make it today. 

**[CROW]** Feel free to venture on without me, though.

**[JOKER]** oh if you’re busy then we can wait till when we’re all free then

**[CROW]** I certainly appreciate it, but I assure you there’s really no need.

**[ORACLE]** i bet mister detective is off to do his fan signings or whatever kek

**[CROW]** First off, I’d highly appreciate it if you didn’t call me that. Akechi will do.

**[CROW]** And also, it’s nothing of the like. I’m simply not feeling all that well today. 

**[NOIR]** I hope you feel better soon then, Akechi!

**[JOKER]** is that so…

**[CROW]** No need to be so ominous, Kurusu. 

**[CROW]** Thank you, Okumura. I apologize for halting plans for today.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A soft groan presses out of Goro’s heavy chest as he sets down his phone once again, crimson eyes dire to fall upon scenery bounding beyond his accomodation, always as plain and bland as he recalled with every passing morning. But considering he had been bedridden all morning, save for his morning procedure of hygiene, he hadn’t seen anything but bland walls that bore eyes upon him, digging into his weak and measly self. It was a rare occurrence for Goro to feel ill, considering he’s always trying his best to stay on top of his needs, including health, but nowadays it simply appears that all that he executes ends up with holes unaddressed that lead to future rebuke. 

To the detective’s disdain, his eyelids were acutely heavy, as they had been when he first woke up to pins penetrating his head as if having been a pin cushion for a seamstress. From the moment his eyes fluttered open till now, he’s been falling in and out of consciousness, accompanied only by hoarse throats, dry coughs, and pounding migraines. He can’t say the occasional chill through his otherwise burning body is anymore a relieving addition than any other attribute had been either. But medicine was out of the question because his aching body refused to move inches from the bed without every cell in his body yearning for the cushion of his shabby mattress once again. So truly, Goro was left in his bed in a miserable cycle till some magic fairy waved their wand and cured Goro of this vex. 

Only once did Kurusu’s strange message of ‘is that so’ pop into Akechi’s mangled mind; the boy had always been up to the most peculiar, yet even a thought more wasted upon the raven-haired was one that Akechi dubs useless. It was a deduction made after nights of having his mind dwell on anything but the matter of the Phantom Thieves’ leader. His mind tended to wander on the topic, discover different thoughts he had never intended to exist, and thus came that it was merely best to shut out thoughts of him in general. As cunning as the supposed gentleman thief was, surely the detective prince knew better than to forfeit to his lollygagging and childish schemes. 

So when there’s a stir at the door, a rap of a few knuckles against the door, the brunet thinks nothing of it; he’s quick to assume it’s a doorman or anyone of little significance, for anyone who actually had intention to visit him would have contacted him by phone. And usually these dwellers leave within one or two knocks, so Goro rests upon his bed for a while longer, trying to get even breaths through a clogged, noncompliant nose. But another knock only neighbors the prior and Goro has to look out the window to appease his suspicions once again. 

From the blinds juxtaposed together flat in purpose to filter out light, dim sunshine that manages to slither through to grace his bed sheets ever so lightly with its sheen tells Goro a rough approximation of the time and only further leads Goro to the conclusion whoever outside was no one of importance. But yet again, another knock comes and rings in Goro’s ears and he’s left to a sharp sigh as he’s essentially obliged to open the door. This better not all be for a trivial matter. 

A creak of the floorboards comes with Goro’s reluctant weight shifting to his feet as he pushes himself against his duvet to fully stand, and with such valiant effort a swimming feeling sloshes in his mind, dizziness imbuing him and like a faint whisper of wind, motions him to lay down once again and ease upon his bed, as inviting as ever. And it’s tempting till another impatient knock comes, this time with another added beat and Goro doesn’t waste another moment to dawdle as he shuffles to the door as fast as his head allows him without another needle pricking his mind, eyes peering to the window to gaze at who was there. And to the appearance of the man he swore not to waste another thought on, Goro fumbles a curse from his lips. 

What is he doing here? Had Goro not made it clear he was feeling sick?

As much as Goro’s unwilling to, his hand falls upon the doorknob anyway, he acquiesces to let the man in for it was improper of him not to do so, in courtesy of the other, but surely he wasn’t responsible for the punishment that’s bound to fall upon him later. The cold of the metal under Goro’s touch—this time of his direct palm and not clad by leather as per usual—was stark considering his risen body temperature and his touch lingers before twisting and pulling, an eyebrow raising to Akira who’s standing at his door oh-so-dubiously.

“Ah, Kurusu, to what do I owe the pleasure to see you again?” Goro greets, a bit bitter on his end, to which he hopes isn’t all that noticeable by the other; his sarcasm was undertoning but granted wasn’t all that out of place, however, taking into consideration his lack of context with his appearance, or forewarning for that matter. The older was sick anyway, he was sure they both understood having time to yourself while sick was much easier than keeping company through rasped words and pained coughs. 

“Sorry for the… unprecedented entry,” Akira sheepishly mumbles, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck in an abashed manner, a bit of an unsolid curl of the lips managing to depict a smile in the presence of the otherwise groggy other. “I would have told you beforehand I was coming, but I was in a bit of a rush.”

Akechi manages to doubt his words, even with his appearance being rather meager—ah, wait, that bird nest of his had always been a constant of his, how foolish of him to forget. But surely he had been granted free time on the train, no? Unless he walked all the way over, which wasn’t logically possible or necessary considering the location gap between his pathetic attic and Goro’s own apartment of sorts. But the man doesn’t spare an inquiry upon it as he simply nods and with forged friendliness, speaks again, “It’s alright. Might I ask what business you have?”

“You said you’re feeling sick, right?” Joker asks, practically inviting himself into Goro’s home with a step inside, to which Goro can only lower his eyes as he steps to the side and permits, as if he had another choice. Upon further examination of the male, he had a leather bag slung over his shoulder as he usually did, be it the aforementioned bag or the Shujin issued bag. Akechi certainly hoped the boy had at least left his cat at home; the nerve of the feline was enough for Goro to have raged had he no human decency, for animals especially. 

“Correct, but what does that have anything to do with you coming?” Goro scrutinizes the other with dark eyes, the dull ache of his limbs submerged by a warding feeling of hushing Akira out for his ideal peace. 

“I’m here to take care of you, obviously,” are the formidable words that drop from Akira’s lips and have Goro’s heart sinking lower than any threshold of his health as the kittenish curl of Akira’s lips perking upwards grew as irritating as the male’s presence in general. Perhaps Detective Prince Akechi would be touched by such a notion. However, Goro was truthfully not enthralled at all by such an offer. 

“ _Take care_?” Goro reiterates with a feigned chuckle, one which was not at all alleviating to the heavy weight crushing his chest, “I believe you’re mistaken—I’m fairly capable of taking care of myself, and I’m older—”

Apparently the other has no interest in hearing Goro out for he just shakes his head and lets his bag slink down from his arm and onto the floor, stretching a bit with a gentle breath leaving his lips. “Don’t worry about it,” Akira replies and that’s about the most reason Goro gets out of all of this situation, as dismal as he’d prefer. “But shouldn’t you be laying down? Sorry for having you get up, you won’t have to now that I’m here though.” 

There’s a subtle luster to the Phantom Thief that Goro instinctively turns his head away from, he’s unsure if Joker’s just gloating in his oh-so-considerate self or if it was just a trick of his pulsing head longing more and more for some sort of sanctuary away from this situation. But instead a haggard cough wiggles from Goro’s thought that has him grimacing from the strain upon his throat and he finds it easier to simply oblige to the younger as he hobbles back to his room, a sigh coming soon after at the steps that follow him. 

His room wasn’t at all far away from the general living space; his home had been rather modest and Goro wouldn’t have it any other way. Much like how that sickening individual Madarame appeared to live in a shack, it built character of some sort, and plus Goro didn’t need anything extra, unlike how the former claimed houses under a maiden’s name. He’s typically out and about anyway, an exception being today, considering his ill state. And the small layout seems to be somewhat in his favor today, besides looking overall bland as it always was and to be frank, a bit of a pain to the eyes.

“You know, your house is rather boring,” Akira mentions, and Goro sees this comment from miles away. Akechi cranes his head and his fingers tuck a few strands of mousse hair that had previously draped his face, a faux delighted expression present pained upon the male as he pauses in his steps.

“Oh, Kurusu, don’t you know it’s improper to comment on one’s house decor?” He returns to his venture to his bed not a few steps away, an amused breath leaving his nose as he eases down upon the mattress again. “And surely you don’t have much room to speak, attic dweller.” _Attic trash._

“The attic is much more lively than this, at least,” Joker mumbles back, eyes upon the older who settles upon the bed delicately like Sleeping Beauty, the tender gaze within gray stormy eyes quite unwelcome; Goro wishes for him to at least be humble in the male’s presence. The usual laced intimacy in their interactions that derived from god knows where was always awfully unprecedented, and as enjoyable as it can prove to seem, it was unfavored by Akechi overall considering he swears—he _insists_ that he wants to squash the brazen leader by his own heel. Attachment in this scenario is generally heavily attached, now if only Akira could get that through his little thick skull.

“Of course, of course,” Goro scoffs as another cough rips through him, his throat like sandpaper as he winces. And this is only met with a frown from Akira who has his thumb propped under his chin, index finger curled around as his eyes trail from him to elsewhere Goro can’t pinpoint.

“I assume coffee wouldn’t help in this situation—” Kurusu muses and Goro has to stifle an eyeroll.

“Smart of you to realize coffee isn’t always the solution,” Goro returns like a shallow retort, which Akira receives with a fake expression of offendedness. 

“It _should_ , at least. Do you have tea here?” 

Goro has to pause for a moment and abate the need to cough once again as he sorts his thoughts. The gears in his head were slow on processing today, not that you could really blame him, but eventually he recalls he had a few more tea bags—he had always been a coffee person, but he supposed tea had more health benefits and wouldn’t hurt to drink once in a while, even if lacking the richness of his beloved coffee. So Goro nods and can read Akira’s scheme with an open book, so he states what’s necessary for the boy. “Yes, to the kitchen, third cabinet from the right. It’s on the highest shelf. _I’m hoping with those glasses of yours, you won’t miss it._ ”

“Mind you, I have great vision,” Akira replies with his index and middle finger coming to the bridge of his nose to push up his black frames, a teasing side glance to the other snug in his bed before sneaking out again. 

The silence that looms over Goro’s room is almost appeasing—Akechi’s eyes manage to flutter close for a moment, but the sound of his sink running from the kitchen stirs him awake once again and suddenly his concern bleeds over to the other rather than for himself. No, no, if Goro could just _shut_ his _eyes_ —

Easier said than done, it appears to Goro, however he at least manages to shut his eyes and peel away any excess light from his shades. What doesn’t falter is the overall topic of his mind, however—it appears as so that Akira continues to dwell within and as reluctant as ever to be the host of such thoughts, Goro can not successfully ward them away and so instead dawdles on the matter that he was here, on his bed, completely viable and exposed to Akira, and yet even with him as vulnerable as ever, such matter doesn’t seem to faze him all that much. How has he fallen this low—?

His mind is absent by the time the scent of herbs float to Goro, and it’s only till the tea is directly in his room for his nose is rather deficient in its current state, and Akira had been freakishly stealthy upon entering his room. Not even the clatter of the porcelain cup against his nightstand was enough to have his eyes fluttered open once again, only the mere hint of tea that Goro could pass as an illusion had he not acknowledged it was Akira making him tea after all. 

“Thank you,” Goro hums, but his voice is much more hoarse than he remembers and practically startles himself. He clears his throat after as best he could, and gingerly takes the cup in hand. One look at the tinted steaming liquid and it seems Akira could actually be useful in facilities beyond his coffee and curry. And so he raises the cup petitely to his lips, pausing for a moment to let it cool off momentarily before taking a sip, and the liquid comes with a slight scald to his tongue but otherwise slivers down his throat and the roughness of his throat at least temporarily wavers for a bit. 

Akira nods and goes back to his living accomodation once again, returning after with his bag over his shoulder, dropping it off once again near Goro’s study desk residing in his room, his own figure settling down upon the chair. “Rest up and let me know when you’re hungry or need something,” the boy states simply, eyes upon his phone he slips outside of his jacket pocket and looking as indifferent as usual as if this situation was by any means any sort of _normal._

Even so, Goro can’t say he’s completely ungrateful for the extended kindness and replies compliantly, setting the steaming tea to the side once again and letting his heavy head rest easy upon his pillow, eyes shutting again in a subtle bliss provided by the tea. Perhaps if Akira’s intention wasn’t at all to pester him and instead sit quietly to himself as he rested… maybe he wasn’t as unwelcome as Goro initially thought. 

  
  


  
  


Peace falls over the two with time, a peace that seemed unrestful without the other’s presence. In a way, it was illogical to how another presence made alone time seem at ease, but simply add it to the list of silly exceptions that this man has made in Goro’s life, for the list has grown hefty over the few interactions shared between them. 

Akira had been on his phone quietly to himself, minding himself save for a couple of shifts in his chair--Goro can vouch for how _uncomfortable_ the chair was, so it was to no surprise the boy had to budge here and there. But seeing him so compliant and at peace was something he was glad to slew in as he lay still and vacant upon his bed, except for a few exceptions as his hard coughs and whatnot that came to invade him. He himself had his phone, to which he’d spare a few glances to, but he likes to think having time to finally surface and float atop of the ocean of his work had been imperative, a chance he’s only given once in a blue moon. And as bitter as Goro is too admit, he can’t say he’s all that against sharing that time with Akira, too, even if they weren’t necessarily doing anything. 

In the time that they had been together and as that domestic peace eased upon them and blanketed each like a blanket, Akira had occasionally checked in--there was a thermometer stowed away in his bag which he used to check upon Goro sometimes, and if his heat flared up once again there’d be no hesitation to place a cool towel upon the man’s pale forehead, a notion to which Goro finds the brush of Akira’s digits against his head almost pleasant as his singeing forehead meets an alleviating cool from the fabric. Akira’s sure to also ask if there’s anything else he can do, food to make him, more blankets to fetch; it’s an odd experience for Goro who’s never had anyone else there to accompany him on days like this when he’s fallen ill, but it slowly finds itself deviously infiltrating his mind, his heart, causing some sort of adoration that pools and swells within Goro’s chest. 

The adoration is an unexplainable heat that surges through him that holds no correlation with his actual temperature at all, Goro knows, but any more acknowledgement to such aberration would quickly be rejected by Goro’s own jurisdiction; what’s more than feeling grateful to one who goes out of their way to lend a hand to him? Even if Goro had never really necessarily taken that hand anyway, and in no context would have had Akira not personally grabbed Goro’s arm and clutched for dear life, Goro’s not all that inhuman, he’d like to think. Of course there’s some sort of gratitude that bubbles within him beyond seeing this affair as strictly platonic. 

Upon Akira’s occasional check ups also followed the question of whether Akira could make something for the male--Goro assumes curry, because what else--and the male never ceases to provide the same shake of the head, claiming he had no appetite. And it was true, the thought of wolfing down some sort of food had been awfully rejected within the male’s mind, Though even with his contradicting thoughts, the empty sensation lingering in his stomach would slowly persist and arise to his attention with each minute shift against his bedsheets. Maybe--just _maybe_ the male should consider getting something to eat, a thought that manifested with reflection of his lack of breakfa--

Almost on cue, there’s a growl that emits from Goro’s empty stomach, a low pitch unmistakable by Akira as his stormy eyes raise from his screen, dilated in surprise as they meet eyes as shocked as his own, hued crimson. “Ah, excuse me…” Goro mumbles as he watches the other raise from the chair with a stern hand against the desk for support. The other runs a hand through his midnight locks and a brief chuckle leaves his chest.

“I know you said you had no appetite,” Akira interjects with a sideway glance, and always somehow there’s this teasing glint of light that stands presently, compelling as Goro gazes in. “...but it wouldn’t hurt if you ate a bit, would it?”

Goro sighs softly as he lays himself against the pillow juxtaposed against the headboard of his bed, rolling his neck a bit before replying. His rasp had abated minutely, enough so that his voice was rather clear as he spoke. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt as long as you kept the poison away,” Goro jests--funny how their adversary bond bled through their intimacy, but it was honestly an ordeal that made their relationship stand out from all of the rest anyway. 

Although Goro’s somewhat ignoring the fact that Goro never really had many genuine relationships with others to begin with.

“I don’t know about that, detective. They say growing an immunity to this stuff helps with the job,” Akira quips back with a tug of his lips upwards, a smirk displayed that rarely ever left Akira’s face, Goro notices. Not that he holds a complaint--it was almost charming. _Almost._

And so, Akira slips into the kitchen once again with a soft mumble that he’d have to ransack Goro’s kitchen, and Goro just hopes his variety of food was… _vast_ enough for Akira to accomplish what he wished. He ate out a lot, considering he had the money, and… he’ll admit, he wasn’t the best cook, by any means. And without the need to cook came a rather dull selection in ingredients on his end as well, and the rummaging that trailed into the bedroom from the kitchen told Goro enough context to know that Akira was probably at a loss to see all that Goro lacked. But there was no verbal exclamation or complaint as the calamity in the kitchen ensued and Goro’s left to listen to the hollow bangs of metal against each other, cabinets bumping against wood, and the running sound of water. 

Goro can’t smell anything, much to his disappointment, but even so with his inept sense of smell, he can imagine the swirl of spices wafting in the air and catching hint of the air and bringing with it the feeling of home and Cafe Leblanc. It was always a lingering scent when he had gone and visited, one that never ceased to hold the man at ease. But he supposes he’ll have to wait a bit more, so he leans his head back against his headboard and his eyes wander to the ceiling again--he’s sure by the amount of times his eyes scrutinize the ceiling he’s left with the whole display etched upon his mind, but he comes to do the same notion regardless time and time again, hoping there was some clarity that’d come with examining the roof over again. 

As to be expected, no consolation came with his eyes upon the unblemished wall, but at least a few moments of his time had passed. He spends the rest letting his mind wander with his head absorbed in black velvet again, a comforting abyss provided by shut eyes and the blanket wrapped about him ebbing the cold bitter spike that was present only at the tip of his conscience. They were pleasant thoughts, like shooting stars that fell out of an inky sky, treasures found on a seashore while the tide is low and the waves lull and crash upon the sand, and they portrayed a future that Goro knows is impossible to gain outside of his fleeting fantasies. It’s the edge that holds Akechi to continue to daydream, for knowing that it’s unachievable is the only thing that permits him to carry on. It’s a complicated thought process, but… he knows once his deed is done, the blood on his hands won’t wash off with a few scrubs with soap, and his life won’t be smooth sailing, rather a nonstop typhoon while he remains stranded in uncharted oceans. 

But, on the bright side, Goro convinces himself the acknowledgement of his fantasies being mere fantasies are what kept him down to Earth, rather than having dreamed of his demise instead. And this all, with Akira cooking in his kitchen as if this whole scenario had been nothing out of the ordinary, perhaps he was finally being rewarded for the inevitable fate he sees must be put into play. He should be allowed to indulge, even if so discreetly and minutely--a moment of salvation was ever-so-gratefully distributed from the own clutches of god, and who was he but to graciously accept? It was only a perk of being the beloved detective prince, however long that matter lasts for. 

Such thoughts that twinkle with delight and are marbled in idealism and sights of a positive future are quick to taint with blood, however, tinge itself of Goro’s own riddance, the feeble tasks he had to do to get himself in his spot. He knows he’s done things inexcusable by man, and he knows he won’t escape the scale of justice in the end, but his name rolling off of everyone’s tongue as if imbued in the dictionary, mentioned throughout the media--it was a moment so savory Goro can forget his sins for a moment to accept where he is right now, on a bed waiting for his adversary, his rival, to cook him up a meal out of some bizarre kindness extended from the other’s heart. It’s a faint acceptance but he’s glad, for once, a smile gracing upon his lips in spite of the overall weary fatigue that holds him captive and intoxicates him. And for once, a refreshing smile, authentic, shines brighter than what fire he’s to hold for all of this justice against the Phantom Thieves. It’s a smile that he can’t say falls upon his lips any other time besides when he’s around Akira, either, as silly as that sounds--and he’s almost tempted to deny that fact, but truth be told his smile had always been faux, a result of the overbearing desire of the media and the crowd to see a smile tailored for the cameras. Even just for a moment Akechi gained the liberty to alleviate himself of his heavy mask, and he can breath (as best as he can out of his heavy chest and clogged nose). 

But then there’s a loud crash in the kitchen that has Goro reeling from his thoughts, as if he had caught onto a hook from a fishing rod and the angler is yanking the brunet back to the surface. And his smile is gone, though the after effect of the gentlest glimpse of satisfaction still resides within, which is relieving to say the least. Although… the sound he heard… Goro’s head turns to the hall which connects his bedroom to the rest of the apartment and sees a head peeking into the bedroom, donned with black wisps of down feathers of a bird and glasses that glint in lofty light, a half smile half grimace painted upon him. 

  
“...Sorry! I dropped something--nothing broke, I assure you..!” the boy is quick to insist with a firm nod of the head and a chuckle would have spilled from the detective had it not been the gruff voice which imbued him to silence instead. Akira’s quick to slip back to his station shortly thereafter and Goro remains surfaced from his past thoughts now, as if floating above clouds that sway him softly in a baby’s cradle. Or maybe he was dizzy, from either hunger or his headache, because there was no way his bed was by any means fine quality, but whatever it was, he was comfortable in his patience. And just like that, the needed time for the food to be finished was passed like a single tick of a clock and a passing grain from the tight cavity of the hourglass, and Akira’s footsteps are heard again in the hall of the apartment with a bowl atop a plate in his hands. 

A stemming subtle laugh branches off to a series of guttural coughs that finish off with a distinct grimace from the older, who’s clearly not enjoying the series of coughs that stem from lungs always feeling insufficient of air. However, he couldn’t help but feel the ping of amusement in his chest regardless as he looks at the younger, and how the inner lenses of his glasses had been fogged by the steam of the food, and he’ll admit it’s a pathetic display to watch as the male fumbles with his shirt’s hem and his glasses frame in order to wipe the fog away. And when Joker notices the attention on him, his nose merely scrunches up in displeasure before quickly slipping his glasses back on. Ah, right, he had made him food--and as Goro’s eyes fall upon the bowl and saucer, to no surprise, there’s of course, curry. 

“Couldn’t think of anything else to make, could you,” Goro humors, making sure he’s propped properly against the headboard. He adjusts his blanket so it’s not over his chest, in the misfortune incident any curry fails to stay on the spoon, though there’s a stray thought of Akira offering to do the laundry that almost pervades Goro’s distinction and inclines him to force Akira to do the littlest of trivial tasks for him just to mess with the male. It’s quite tempting, but Crow figures he’ll cease from his teasing since the benevolence of the leader had shone through today within his ministrations. 

“You should be glad I made anything off of the scraps you have in your kitchen,” Akira riposts, to which Goro really does roll his eyes too. 

“If I knew you’d be so judgemental of my living style, maybe I should have left you outside.”

“You wouldn’t have, I’m much too irresistible.” 

“You’re kidding. I’m gonna have to show you to a mirror one day.” 

Akira playfully pouts in refutal, quipping back, “I didn’t know the detective prince had it in him to be so harsh. Wait till the media hears.” 

And for a moment, Goro’s throat grows drier than ever before, to which Akira picks up and quickly continues his statement.

“--I-I’m kidding, I’d never, don’t worry.” 

_Ah, of course he wouldn’t anyway, who was Goro kidding?_

“Exposing my rival would mean nothing else to win at, after all,” Akira quickly extricates, and Goro’s back to his levity-filled self. 

The air grows still again, besides the rise and fall of each individual’s chest and the steam dissipating in the air from the curry freshly made. And as Goro’s to reach with nimble fingers to the saucer, Akira snatches the food instead before Goro’s grasp solidifies, and a quirked eyebrow falls upon the other. The smile that accompanies the other’s mischievous eyes only elicit a foreboding sensation that prickles his skin as needles did his head minutes ago with his migraine. But there’s nothing unfamiliar about either, considering there’s always been some perturbation of Goro’s following Joker. 

“Since you’re so ill and whatnot,” Kurusu hums in a devious tone, an occurrence that inculcates the urge to simply dismiss himself--despite that not necessarily being an option presently--as he grabs a spoonful of the curry and holds it in the air, and the dread that washes over Goro like a shower was evident with the deadshot look in sepia eyes. It was derision that rushed through Goro’s veins in absence of adrenaline, that flooded him with keen despondency in acknowledgement to the next motion of Akira’s hands bee-lining ever so slowly closer to Goro’s lips… dear god dear god dear _god_ \--

“Say aah,” Akira only continues with a sly perk of his lips, and Goro’s lips are sealed like an incessant child refusing to eat his greens. By all means, he had bestowed the privilege of being impuissant in front of the Phantom Thief, and by leaps and bounds that was as far as anyone had been relation wise with Goro. But to go through the grief and utter embarrassment to be _fed_ by him--absolutely _not. Absolutely not. Absolutely NOT!_

“Kurusu, I’d actually prefer you’d rather n-!” and in the midst of Goro’s refusal, Akira somehow finds an opportunity to lodge the spoon in between Goro’s lips and he’s met with the burst of flavors dancing upon his tongue in a firework of spices which Goro wasn’t aware was even possible with the little ingredients he had. But his cheeks in itself are dusted as red as the curry, seeing as how he was oh-so-rudely interrupted by being _fed_ of all things, though the way the curry seems to slide down his throat and soothes his raucous tone had been enough of a reason to invoke him to silence of the matter as he swallows. 

The gloating expression upon the raven-haired, however, would not go unaddressed. He was beaming, eyes luminous silver accompanying a grin that tilted his eyes down. “Want another?”

Goro lets out the harshest of exhales yet, his eyes fluttering close as if to surface some sort of erupting anger that, in all honesty, was devoid. He can’t quite understand why his next words were, “ _Last_ one,” however, as he himself is baffled by his own actions for a moment. And it seems the pause in Akira’s reaction held him off guard momentarily as well, but his felinistic curl of his lip only escalates as a spoon is dipped into the curry again and scooped a spoonful out to hold to Akechi’s lips. 

This time it was much better received as Goro’s lips part and wrap around the spoon, taking the contents of the curry in with fair temperance, and as the spoon parts, Goro’s tongue even comes to drag across his bottom lip to ensure none of the curry had been astray on his lips before once again swallowing and nodding subtly in approval and satisfaction. “Surprisingly,” Goro remarks, “your curry doesn’t taste odd, even with illness which can occasionally affect the taste buds.” 

“Or perhaps I’m just that good,” Akira snickers and Goro’s tempted to take back his words. He doesn’t, however--Joker deserved some sort of praise and recognition after his efforts in assuring Goro’s wellbeing today. Even if Goro watched as Akira scoops another spoonful and eats some himself, humming in contentment. 

“You know, you’re gonna catch what I have because of that.”

“As if a mere cold or whatever could strike down the leader of the Phantom Thieves!”

Akechi fed himself now, quite joyous to do so, in fact, as he took the plate and bowl in hand. And as Akechi snacked upon the concoction, hubbub and banter laced their time together and by the time the bowl had been empty, a glance out the window would indicate it was the midst of the night now. Had they really been together talking for so long?

Goro’s eyes that strayed to the window attract Akira’s alongside of it, who’s also held appalled at the passing time. Akira presses a thin line of a breath through his lips as he turns to Goro once again and then finally releases with the quaintest of a breath, “I think it’s finally time for me to return back, now.” There’s a murmur under his breath that follows about not having told Sojiro he’d be gone for so long. “I’ll clean up the dishes though.” 

“No need,” Goro presses, nodding. “I’ll most likely feel better tomorrow, as I’m already doing better presently, so I can wash it then.” 

Akira ascertains the theory by letting his eyes peruse the detective, to which the brunet’s claim actually seemed to be correct. “If you insist… I had already done the other dishes anyway.” 

Goro lets out a soft breath as his eyes fall upon the other, more tender than they had been throughout the day. “I really appreciate it, Kurusu.” 

“Anything for you, my prince.” 

There’s a rush of heat that stems from Akira’s words and Goro refuses to blame the rise in temperature on anything but his fever (that he may or may not have actually had at that moment). “Don’t call me that.”

“Would Sleeping Beauty work better?” Akira teases, and Goro’s about to revoke all of his kind words. “I’m kidding, but you do know I did indirectly kiss you earlier,” he mentions with a wink. 

“I’m certain next time to shut the door on my Prince Charming,” Goro scoffs, looking away. 

There’s a silence that falls and it’s a beat too long that suddenly Goro’s held at panic for a second, enough so he cranes his head around to shoot a glance at Akira and had he really been Sleeping Beauty, he was sure had he not been awake this whole time, he would have been now, because it was none other than Akira’s lips that come brushing against Goro’s with the most delicate movement that elicits the most addicting sensation that blanket Goro’s lips with an intricate ecstasy. But even more so, there’s red that drapes over Goro and he pushes away as fast as the kiss came, and Goro’s unsure of when the hell Akira had moved so close to him anyway..! But Akira doesn't miss another beat and stands there with a dubious smile, hands in his pockets and an expression lit up with glee. 

“You know I never leave my work half done,” Akira muses, and that’s his last line as he goes to the desk tucked to the side of the room to grasp his bag and sling it over his shoulder once again. And Goro’s unsure of what to say, nor could his voice even support words ripping through his throat regardless--and in this scenario it wasn’t the husk of his voice that would fail him, rather how he was held as a victim to Akira’s mercy as he was moments ago, and he just watched as the back of Akira slips away into the halway. 

And Goro’s heart is pounding, thrashing with his lips tingling against his will. In fact, the steady thump of his heart almost tuned out Akira’s last definite words, but like a melody they came to anyway, slipping into his ears. “Let me know if you ever feel sick again, okay? I’ll be there to take care of you.” 

And with that, the door to Goro’s apartment closes and he is left once again in an isolation that Goro believed initially he had desired in the first place. And he realizes he was quite wrong, and a part of him even yearns for Akira’s company once again. And that kiss, that _damn_ kiss..! And his prince… ah, to hell with it. Goro finally gives up to the fatigue that wrapped around him like bandages, an urge that he refused to face till he was alone again. He could sleep this off, see that it was all a dream, that this was another one of his fleeting fantasies. And with his tired heavy eyelids, his lull to dreamland wasn’t at all without ease. 

And that night he dreamed of his fantasies again, with that stupid Akira Kurusu to accompany him, to tend for him as he did today.

A buzz awakens Goro the next morning, to which Goro releases a harsh groggy yawn and palms for his phone buried within a desert of bedsheets. But the rectangular form of his phone is eventually depicted and Goro grasps at it and brings it to him, reading the notification that displayed on the lock screen: 

**[JOKER]** hey

**[JOKER]** i think i caught what you had yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe you read that whole thing ty for reading lmao 
> 
> i love them 
> 
> and please don't contaminate yourself by kissing an ill loved one <3


End file.
